


Something to Do with Coffee

by LuckyDuck49



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Coffee Shops, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDuck49/pseuds/LuckyDuck49
Summary: Lizzy Bennet didn’t much like her job. Granted, she didn’t hate it either, but it did mean she had to deal with some real a-holes. Like this one guy, who acted all prideful and snobbish, and insisted his name was some ancient Regency name. Why pick a phony name like that? Why pick fights with the barista over nothing? And, most importantly, why did he keep coming back? ❤️(WIP)
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Lizzie Bennet/William Darcy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 64





	1. Dreary, Weary Day

**Author's Note:**

> So, this work is just an idea that I wanted to get out before I forgot. It’s NOT going to be as long as my other works, because I’m still posting those, but it won’t be COMPLETE trash either. Cute, fluffy prompt I found. Enjoy! ❤️

It was a Wednesday when he first walked in. A dreary, puddle-ridden Wednesday. The puddles had even managed to slither inside Longbourn Cafe, sneaking in on the shoes of passers by. It wasn’t a busy day, but it wasn’t slow either. It was a forgettable day, mostly. 

The first thing Lizzy Bennet knew she wouldn’t forget though, was the look on his face, the man with the silver tie. His face was handsome— chiseled and clean-shaven— but unchecked and angry around the edges. Weary about the eyes. His dark hair was somewhere between curly and straight, his posture somewhere between stiff and stiffer.

He was talking on the phone when he walked in.

“No, no. Not without my permission. I don’t care what Mrs Younge said, he’s not authorized to do that. Yes, I know who she is, you idiot! I just— stop. What did you say? Yes, yes, OF COURSE I WANT TO FIRE HER! Yes, effective immediately. Uh huh. Positive. Okay. Bye.”

The man hung up, and everyone in Longbourn Cafe went back to their coffees, pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. Lizzy kept her eyes on the man, wondering if he took a wrong turn somewhere. He looked too rich and too angry to be in a coffee shop like this. 

He swiveled around, eyeing the small cafe with evident disdain. His handsome lip curled. Lizzy prepared herself to deal with yet another self-centered businessman. Ever since Pemberley Studios (or whatever it was called) had bought the vacant building on the corner, they had made her life as a part-time barista a living hell. But, whatever. They were rich. Good tips.

“How may I help you today, sir?” She asked.

The man’s eyes flicked over her, and Lizzy wished she had worn her normal sweatshirt over the apron. Instead, she was caught in a tank top, a little lower cut than she would usually wear (her sister’s), chilly and exposed. He looked at her like she was a bug on his windshield.

“Do you have Geisha?” He asked abruptly.

“Um, sorry, I don’t think we do.”

He let out a long suffering sigh, and rubbed a hand over his face. “God. Just get me, uh…,” he trailed off, squinting at the chalk menus above her. “Just a… venti mocha latte, 2 pumps of hazelnut, and no cream. And make it hot, not just lukewarm, okay? Got that?”

“Yes sir,” Lizzy said, liking this guy less with every word he said in that condescending tone. “We’ll get that right to you. Is there a name for this order?”

“Fitzwilliam,” the man said.

Lizzy squinted at him. She had gotten fake names before, but never one so… aristocratic. The guy looked back at her, impassive. She shrugged to herself. His name was probably just William and he didn’t want someone else claiming his order. Whatever. 

She went to fix his coffee as the man loitered by the coffee bar. William was tall, she noticed. And scowling at everyone in sight, she also noticed. Lizzy shook her head. Hopefully he would leave soon— he was scaring the other customers (there were only three others in the store, but still!).

Soon enough, the man’s mocha latte was ready. “William,” she called out.

He materialized in front of her, glowering. He looked like she had just sucker punched his little sister. “Fitzwilliam,” he corrected with a growl, “Not William.”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzy said sincerely. She had honestly forgotten about the angry man’s fake name. “Here’s your coffee, sir.”

He grabbed it without so much as a thank you, took one sip, and slapped a hand to his lips, swearing softly. “Fucking perfect,” he muttered.

Lizzy leaned forward, torn between concerned and offended. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, there is,” he bit out, nursing his lip, “You obviously don’t know how to properly heat up coffee— this wasn’t hot, it was scalding. Are you so petty that you would add extra heat to a coffee, just because I didn’t tip?!”

Lizzy hadn’t noticed that the man had neglected to tip. But now she was angry. She set her jaw and tried not to glare. “I am sorry, sir, that your coffee was too hot,” she ground out, “It was not intentional, believe me.”

He snorted, and Lizzy wanted to knock his perfect teeth in. He blew on the top of his coffee and avoided eye contact. Evidently, the encounter was over.

“Maybe I should call up the manager,” she heard him mutter under his breath as he walked to the door, “Tell him to find some _tolerable_ waitresses.”

**That** did it. Lizzy, unable to resist, called out, “Thank you for your business, Mr William!”

“It’s _Fitzwilliam,”_ he said through clenched teeth, a vein in his head doing a funny little tap dance. 

Lizzy flashed him a brilliant smile— the shiny one that had gotten her out of many detentions, and that showed off her dimple— and turned away. She was already taking the next order before she could see the look of anger vanish, just for a split second, and an awe-stuck smile take hold. Then, just as quickly, it was back to a scowl, deeper than before. 

The man— Fitzwilliam— loitered there a little longer, by the door, too-hot drink in hand. Lizzy didn’t look up until he was gone, slipped out into the rainy Wednesday city. 

She didn’t expect to see him again. 

She didn’t expect a lot of things.


	2. Tedious Mornings and Teasing Scorning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time Fitzwilliam comes to the cafe. Longish chapter. Lots of subtext that shows his side of things. Cute, and longer than usual.  
> Next chapter will be Darcy’s POV, so get ready! ;)  
> Enjoy ❤️

The next time Lizzy saw Mr Fitzwilliam was a Friday. The sun was out. It was strangely cold— probably because of the winds, tearing through the sleepy city with fierce howls, (unsuccessfully) trying to rouse the city’s inhabitants. Cities, as a general rule, weren’t very sleepy, but at 7:00 on a Friday, everyone's a little sleepy.

Longbourn Cafe had barely opened, and the one employee managing it was barely awake.

Lizzy was missing her sister. She had multiple, but at that moment, she was only missing Jane. Her oldest sister was currently in New York, building a fashion empire in the least threatening way possible. Seriously. Jane Bennet was the snickerdoodle of women. Sugary sweet and entirely too good. 

“Is the cafe still doing well?” Jane’s voice asked, the speakerphone echoing around the empty room.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Lizzy yawned. “Are you still dating the Poem Creep?”

“No,” Jane paused. “And don’t call him the Poem Creep. He was very talented.”

Lizzy held her tongue, sensing her sister’s discomfort over the phone. “I’m.. sorry,” she said eventually.

“Me too.”

“Mom’ll freak though.”

“Yeah.”

“Should I tell her?”

“Better not,” Jane said, her voice strained in a way that made Lizzy think she was making a face. “I’ll just do it.”

“I salute you, brave soldier,” Lizzy said dryly.

“Oh snaps, I gotta go. Late for work.”

“What? Ok.”

“Hey— Liz?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get too lonely. Okay?”

Lizzy swallowed a lump in her throat. Somehow, her sister always knew the perfect ways to find the chinks in her armor. “Okay,” she replied, her voice thick with weighted emotion.

“I love you, Liz.”

“Love you too, Janey.”

She hung up the phone and plopped down at a table. Lizzy bit down on a buttered croissant, and sighed through her nose. She wasn’t _lonely._ She wasn’t!

For some odd reason, her thoughts circled back to the man from the other day— the rude one, with nice brown eyes. She wondered about him, as she laid her head down on the table. 

_Was he lonely?_ Lizzy doubted it; someone that rich and beautiful couldn’t be all alone. He probably had women knocking down his door! For some reason, this made her a little sad. Whatever. She would probably never see him again, and even if she did, he would still be just an asshole. 

Lizzy wasn’t sure when she drifted off to sleep, but her dreams had brown eyes in them. Deep, chocolate eyes that were framed by dark lashes and tilted at the sides. Bruised circles under them, a dull sparkle— all but extinguished— lounging in the corner. 

She slowly fell deeper and deeper into slumber, falling into the chasmic depth of the strange man’s eyes as she did so. Funny how some things stick with you. Lizzy could feel the confines of her cotton shirt over her spine as it rose and fell. It was soothing, dependable. She counted through the rhythm of her breath until all conscious thought melted away, and she was left with blissful nothingness.

She was awoken by the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Lizzy opened her eyes and looked up, up, up, into a weirdly familiar face. Familiar, because she had thought about it so often. Weirdly so, because she had only seen it once before.

The man was staring at her with an unreadable expression. Lizzy took it to mean disapproval.

“Um, hi, sorry,” she spluttered, jumping to her feet. “I’ll just, _whoa—“_

Lizzy’s feet had betrayed her. As she slept, they had too. Then, as she tried to get up, her ankle rolled and she fell forward into the arms of the strange, stern-looking man. 

He caught her. Held her a little tighter than necessary.

“Are you alright?” Asked Fitzwilliam, struggling to keep them both steady. His face was very close.

“Yeah yeah, I’m okay,” Lizzy responded, a bit flustered, “My, uh, foot fell asleep.” She laughed. Nervously. “Clumsy, I guess.”

“Be more careful next time.”

As Mr Fitzwilliam all but shoved her away, reddened and scowling fiercely, and refused to look at her face, Lizzy’s eyes closed briefly in repressed exasperation. _Okay. Yeah. This guy was a jerk._

“So, what can I do for you, Fitzwilliam?” She asked as she walked behind the counter. _Please have some easy, quick order,_ Lizzy prayed to herself, _Anything fast. To-go, maybe?_

Instead of answering though, the man just gave her a briefly wide-eyed look that could have meant a thousand things. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing deeply against his throat.

“You remembered my name,” he said.

Lizzy rolled her eyes a little. “It’s not everyday someone named _Fitzwilliam_ shows up at a place like this.” _And doesn’t leave a tip, and insults the barista._

He coughed lightly. “Well, I, uh, appreciate it.”

A pause.

“And… would you like to order anything, sir?”

Fitzwilliam remembered himself, and glanced up at the menu boards, then back to her, then around the cafe— as if he was expecting ninjas to accost him at any second. He cleared his throat again. 

“A large mocha latte, with uh, blueberry muffin, please.”

“Is that for here or To-go?” Lizzy asked, with _absolutely NO preference_ for his answer AT ALL.

He scratched the back of his neck, and adopted an almost human expression as he once more glanced at her face. “Um, for here.”

Lizzy stopped herself from sighing heavily, and instead busied herself with fixing the irritating man’s coffee. They were the only people in the cafe. It was so quiet, Lizzy could hear his breathing, hear the scuffing of his expensive shoes against the well-worn carpet.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, and racking her brain for something to say, Lizzy asked over her shoulder (as playfully as she could muster), “No hazelnut today then, Fitzwilliam?”

The man seemed surprised she had remembered his order. He colored slightly, and gave her something that could have passed for a smile. “Not today, no.”

“Shame. It’s really good.”

“Yes, I know.”

They once more descended into silence and this time, Lizzy wasn’t breaking it any time soon. Screw the haughty jerk, who was also a terrible conversationalist! He could eat his stupid muffin in awkward silence, for all she cared.

“Here’s your muffin, sir,” Lizzy said, handing over the bag first.

“Thank you,” Fitzwilliam said softly. He took it from her, swiped his card, and then hesitated by the counter as she put the lid on his cup and scribbled discreetly on the side.

“Look, Miss,” he started, barely noticing as she handed him his coffee, “About the other day, if you felt like I was offensive in any way, I’m sor—“

He stopped. Lizzy turned away to hide her smile.

On the cup, under the name space she had written in bold letters, ‘FITZGERALD.’

She didn’t turn around to see his suppressed groan, but hearing it did something to her soul. Something sweet. Like.. revenge.

“Really?” Fitzwilliam’s voice said as Lizzy rearranged the coffee beans. _“Fitzgerald?”_

She didn’t even try to hide her grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

Fitzwilliam’s annoyingly handsome face screwed up, and Lizzy was having a hard time telling whether he was trying not to laugh or scream. Regardless of the answer, he took the coffee without further comment, and sat down at a table, which made _her_ want to scream. 

Lizzy pretended not to care. She cleaned the plates, rearranged the utensils, straightened the signs, swept, and basically did everything she could to avoid the fact that her only customer had his phone out, but was looking at her. Constantly. _Always._

Lizzy couldn’t help but feel like he was judging her, waiting for her to trip on her shoe laces or something equally embarrassing, to catch her one her phone and call her boss to tell him she was being negligent. With this in mind, Lizzy was more focused on her job than she had been in a very long time. Not that she cared what he thought. Just.. just because.

Still, Lizzy couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when the man absconded his table (after finishing his muffin almost 30 MINUTES AGO), just after her first few customers trickled in. 

Fitzwilliam was.. unnerving.

More unnerving still was that Lizzy wasn’t threatened by him. Usually, if a man stared at her that way for THAT LONG without talking, Lizzy would have her hand on the ‘emergency call’ button until he left. But Fitzwilliam never made her feel unsafe. Just… unsettled. Like she was an oddity, some zoo creature he went out of his way to stare at. Yep, that line of thinking REALLY wasn’t helping her self-confidence.

Lizzy sighed. 

She wondered briefly, as she was taking orders, why the man had bothered to come back at all. Maybe he just worked close, and it was more convenient this way. Her best friend, Violette Lucas, would say Fitzwilliam was desperately in love with her, and was about to sweep her off her feet like Cinderella. Violette was always a hopeless romantic, though she claimed she just liked the drama. 

But Lizzy was sure, whatever the case was, that Fitzwilliam Who-Ever-He-Was was of no importance to her. He was just a man— a rude one at that. It wasn’t like he was ever going to be in her life. 

No matter how enthralling his eyes were.

Her father used to say that eyes were the windows of the soul. If that was so, Lizzy’s soul was light and laughing and sparkling green. And Fitzwilliam’s was complex and intoxicating and darkly beautiful, piercing through you with a noble, distant stare that seemed to cut you to your very core. 

Lizzy shook off these pointless thoughts. She didn’t know this man— she didn’t even want to! He was just a customer, like any other. She would treat him as just another face.

...the only thing was, the whole morning, after Jane’s phone call, Lizzy had felt the drag of 9-5 life. Tedious. Bland. Endlessly repeating, for no reason but to end. Seeing Fitzwilliam again, teasing him about his name, hell, even being stared at by him! It had.. given Lizzy her spark back.

She liked how it felt, making that enigma of a stranger lose his cool, just a little. She liked how it made her HER, again.

Enough so that she didn’t exactly mind, when her puzzling friend became a regular customer at Longbourn Cafe. She didn’t exactly _mind,_ at all.

There was a certain joy, in the playful loathing.

And she was sure, he felt it too.


	3. The Reasoning Behind ‘Fitzwilliam’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just a catchup chapter, showing how Darcy’s seeing things. Will get into switching POV and fun fluff after this ;)

The first time Darcy went to Longbourn Cafe was a mistake. He had been distracted— a family emergency he didn’t have time to deal with. You don’t need to know details. But he had been excessively frustrated on the phone, and mistaken the small Cafe for his usual deli. 

It was a gloomy day. It matched his mood: glowering. Nothing was going right, not even his morning coffee.

When he had gotten off the phone (already in a bad mood), he had been too socially conscious to admit his mistake and walk back out— people were already looking at him. So, he tried to order something off the top of his head, when the barista informed him the store didn’t sell it.  _ Gah. Of fucking course. _

Without really thinking about it, Darcy ordered his comfort drink: a mocha latte with hazelnut. The kind his mom used to make, back when she still packed his lunch everyday, even though he was in high school. The kind no one made right anymore. He wanted it hot too, something to warm up and soothe the frustration freezing his insides. 

Not many people knew this about Darcy, but he had social anxiety. It was bad. Everywhere he went, unfamiliar faces seemed to be staring at him, laughing behind his back, mocking him. It didn’t help that in this quiet cafe, you could hear a pin drop. See everyone staring at you, and not just in your imagination. He didn’t know these people. He didn’t  _ want  _ to know them. 

These kinds of people weren’t on his level— financially, or otherwise. The kind of people who frequented cafes to just sit there clearly didn’t have anything better to do. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for his drink.

“William?” The woman at the counter called out.

Darcy rolled his eyes. He  _ hated  _ that he knew she was asking for him. William was boring, casual, ordinary. He didn’t want to be any of those things, but he also hated Fitzwilliam. Really, he didn’t know why THAT had been what popped into his head. Usually he just went by Darcy.

Oh well. Too late to turn back now.

“Fitzwilliam,” he said to the woman at the counter, “Not William.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, casually, as if it wasn’t horribly rude to completely butcher someone’s name like that. Darcy scowled as he took the coffee from her outstretched hand. 

He almost dropped the cup when he took the first sip; instead he just swore and snapped at the barista for making his coffee scalding. And when he told her off for it, SHE had the NERVE to glare at him! What had he done wrong!

Still, Darcy didn’t want to cause a scene. He blew on the coffee, trying to calm himself down. Great. Just great. Now he had to wait anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes just to have his comfort drink! He mumbled to himself about what he should do. Call up the manager? Ask him to hire some waitress that WASN’T incompetent and rude?

Just as he thought this (and maybe muttered it under his breath, but no one could prove that), the same waitress called out, in an all-too-chipper voice, “THANK YOU FOR YOUR BUSINESS, MR WILLIAM!”

“It’s  _ Fitzwilliam,”  _ he ground out angrily. Instead of acting offended again though, the woman had smiled at him, and Darcy’s breath had momentarily been stolen from his lungs. 

_ She was radiant. _

He had seen beautiful women before, but this woman positively  _ glowed _ with life. Her eyes were a sharp emerald, bright and laughing, and a dimple winked at his from one soft cheek. She had adorable freckles scattered across her nose like a Picasso, and her cinnamon hair framed her face in toasted waves, curling at the ends. Her smile lit up the room. Her eyes seemed to be challenging him. Daring him to make a move. 

Then she turned away.

Darcy blinked, and suddenly she was just a pretty barista in a nowhere cafe, and he was just a man. A man who couldn’t help himself from standing there, just a little longer. 

He found himself walking to work with a coffee cup in his hands, not having taken a single sip. He didn’t remember walking out of the store. He certainly didn’t remember paying. All his memories, all his mind, were consumed with the image of that impertinent woman’s smile. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t stop thinking about her; that would be ridiculous! No, no, he wasn’t as lonely as all that. He focused on his work. He reviewed some contracts, scheduled a meeting or two, and tried to focus on his paperwork. The thing was, that his mind would inevitably drift back to a cafe, not two blocks from his top-floor office at Pemberley Studios. 

The next day was much the same. Except this time, when he reviewed the memory, it occurred to him he didn’t know the woman’s name. And that’s he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, would very much like to.

Maybe that’s why he found himself in Longbourn Cafe once more, standing over the curly haired barista as she slept on one of the tables. Her head slumped against her arm, a thin line of drool filtering out of her parted lips and onto her forearm. She looked adorable.

Darcy almost hadn’t wanted to wake her, but he wanted to know her name, and possibly say he was sorry for being short with her the other day. He hadn’t done anything wrong, of course, but appearances were everything.

Unfortunately, as soon as she opened her eyes, Darcy once again forgot how to breathe.  _ Radiant. _

Matters were made worse when she got up, and immediately stumbled. Darcy’s instincts kicked in, and his arms wrapped around the spiritedly young woman. He asked her if she was alright, before realizing that her gorgeous green eyes were less than four inches from his brown ones. That he had her in his arms. That he could kiss her, right then.

His face burning, he lightly pushed her away so that she wouldn’t think he was some sort of creep. He was about to say something— something clever and cool and that would make her say ‘yes yes YES I WILL have dinner with you!’— but then she asked him for his order.

She remembered his name.

A sort of dulled warmth diffused through his chest, and all he could do was gape at this woman who had remembered him, who had thought about him, who, maybe, had felt the same connection he did. 

Then she asserted that his name was weird. He deflated a little, but thanked her eloquently for her consideration. 

He didn’t even know what he ordered. Whatever it was, he took it, and was about to apologize and ask her out, when he read the name on the cup.

_ ‘Fitzgerald’ _

_ Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.  _

He groaned in frustration. “Really?” Darcy had asked, keeping his voice as even as he could manage, “Fitzgerald?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,” the woman said, grinning back impishly.

Darcy could feel his eyebrows lowering, his mouth twisting into a displeased frown. She knew his name. Why was she writing the wrong one?  _ Was she making fun of him? HOW DARE SHE. _

But wait. Maybe this was.. f-flirting…? 

Darcy didn’t have much experience flirting, or being flirted with. People said he was handsome, but often added ‘unapproachable’ to that. This girl was definitely not afraid of him, though. She  _ smiled _ at him! Maybe that meant she liked him!

Darcy contemplated this as he sat down at a table, and allowed his eyes to follow the pretty barista around the store. She was always busy, which he appreciated. Good work ethic. Still, he would have liked if she slowed down just a little, and meandered over to his table to sit with him.

The cafe was empty. It was just the two of them. The silence felt intimate; perfectly natural. Darcy was glad that she understood him so well— he really hated small talk. They were so in tune! 

Eventually though, he did have to leave. Just as well too, other people were starting to come into the cafe, breaking the quiet intimacy Darcy and the waitress had previously shared.

But even as he walked out the door, he knew that he would come back. There was just something about her… something even more addictive than coffee. And he hoped, she felt it too.


	4. Nothing Goes Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switched POV halfway through. The third time Darcy comes into Longbourn Cafe. Just self-indulgent fun lol :) Hope y’all like  
> Might post again soon— make sure to leave any suggestions in the comments! I’m open to them ❤️

Lizzy Bennet liked to think she was the creative sort. Sure, she wouldn’t make finger-paintings or use paper-mache, but she had a streak of imagination. And she was putting it to very good use, she felt, with Mr Fitzwilliam.

The third time he came in, it was windy.

The wind tore through the streets, rampaging across the city smog and blasting apart tree branches and poor, unsuspecting women’s hairdos. Well, actually, everyone’s hairdos.

It gave Lizzy a bit of sadistic pleasure to see Mr Perfect have a wind-blown bedhead, and his tie askew.

“Good morning,” she said cheekily, “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

She was in such a good mood, she didn’t even care that this annoying man gaped like a fish at her when she smiled his way. His mouth closed with a snap. He swallowed. “Um, yes. Well, No. Not really.”

She raised one eyebrow, her smile growing. “You want the usual, Fitzwilliam?”

He blinked at her. It struck Lizzy that he was rather cute when he was confused; she quickly dismissed the thought— he was an asshole.

“What?” the asshole said, “I mean, the usua— yes. Yes, I do.”

Lizzy chuckled brightly. “Indecisive, aren’t we?” She grinned at him, and unbeknownst to her, her eyes were dazzling the poor man halfway to madness.

He nodded, frowning at himself that he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Lizzy poured his coffee, and took special pleasure when he read the name out loud with a disgruntled expression.

 _“Fitzwilliamina.”_ He looked up with a deadpan expression. “Oh, now you’re just fucking with me.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, what’s it to you?” She put on her most impish expression. Her green eyes twinkled like stars.

The man almost smiled, but then looked like he thought better of it. “What’s your name?” He asked suddenly.

A bit taken aback, Lizzy didn’t answer right away. His deep chocolate eyes bored into her, making it hard to think. He cocked the left eyebrow.

“Elizabeth,” she blurted. Then colored. _Nobody had called her that since grade school._

“Huh,” Fitzwilliam mused, “that’s nice.”

“Thank you,” she said. There was no one else in the cafe who needed to be served. No chores for her to do. No escape.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly. Two spots of pale pink were manifesting themselves on his cheekbones. “So… what.. do you do?”

She looked at him as if he was crazy. “I work here.”

The pink spots grew. “I mean, besides that.”

“Well,” Lizzy said, busying herself with wiping the counter (not to avoid eye contact— that would be petty), “I also publish book reviews. But mostly work here.”

She didn’t tell him that she wanted to publish books as well. She didn’t tell him that even though she had a talent for coffee, she would never have worked at the Longbourn Cafe had her father not gotten diagnosed with cancer last winter, and had to take extended time off of work. She didn’t tell him that she was on her own for the first time, that she was lonely without her older sister, just living with her best friend and trying to keep the store from going under any way she could. 

She didn’t tell him that, because he didn’t need to know. They were just strangers after all.

“Oh,” Fitzwilliam sniffed. “That’s… nice.”

Lizzy slammed the rag down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “SO, what do you do, Fitzwilliam.”

She looked at him, willing him to read the message in her eyes. _Go away. Get out. I don’t like you and you are making me uncomfortable— LEAVE._

“I.. uh, _work_ just down the street. At Pemberley Studios. If you live around here, it would be really convenient if you…. Y’know, we accept intern applications from.. _all_ types of people! You don’t even have to have a high school diploma! You—”

This time, when Lizzy slammed the rag down, the coffee pot rattled in warning. She smiled through her teeth. “THANKS, _sir,_ but I’m actually VERY happy with my job. I don’t need a new one.”

He looked confused. He put one hand up, as if to stop her, saying, “Wait—“

“You know, I think we have a delivery coming in. I should go check on that. Have a great day, _sir!”_

With that, Lizzy was out the back door and out of sight. Leaving Fitzwilliam Darcy standing there, holding his cup of coffee that tasted like home. He sort of wondered how he should pay.. but mostly he wondered what he had done wrong. 

He had wanted the beautiful barista ( _Elizabeth,_ he reminded himself, with an internal smile) to be closer to him. The Longbourn Cafe _was_ on the way to work, (where he was a CEO, not just some employee) but it would be even simpler if she was an intern. If he could be around her all day, maybe he wouldn’t be so distracted. Maybe he would get over her.

So why had she taken offence? It had been extremely generous of him, implying she could get a REAL job without so much as an interview! _Ungrateful siren,_ he thought to himself as he sullenly sipped his coffee.

Darcy glared at the steaming liquid. _Damn it. It was_ **_still_ ** _the best thing he had ever tasted._

And she had just left him! Just ran out the door, as if he had a disease! After flirting with him so blatantly the day before— talk about mixed signals. _What did she want from him?!_

Well, no more! If she was going to be a thankless vixen, he wouldn’t come back! He wouldn’t! Darcy was stronger than that. 

But not better than that.

Digging out his wallet, he took a moment of guilty satisfaction in counting out _exactly_ the cost of his coffee. He used coins for the last three dollars. _Good riddance._

He shoved the wadded up mini-pile of cash and coins further onto the counter. As he did so, a little black board by the display case caught his eye. It was on the other side of the counter— the side customers usually couldn’t see. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody was looking, Darcy leaned over, squinting at the board.

In chalk, there was written a list of employees, their phone numbers, emergency information, and their shifts. Darcy snorted, and pulled himself back to the correct side. That list had no use for him! 

He had no reason to care about a list like that— especially not regarding Elizabeth Bennet whose phone number was mostly three’s with a five and 2 zeros thrown in, and who had the morning shifts every week day except Tuesday.

No reason to care at all.

He walked out of the Longbourn Cafe with the steadfast resolve to not walk in again. He had no reason to. 

Just like he had no reason to scribble down her number and shift times on a spare napkin as if his life depended on it.

Somewhat giddy, and somewhat disgusted with himself, Fitzwilliam Darcy threw away his coffee cup. He was done with this silly infatuation. Because that was all it was! And he was stronger than that.

He hoped he was.


	5. WHAT IS THIS FEELING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy’s POV. Shortish, just fun playing around with his perspective lol. Sort of fluff, but mostly just Darcy being an awkward turtle lol :) Hope y’all like, leave a comment if you do! I love reading them ❤️  
> Also, will post again soon!

_It wasn’t pathetic,_ Darcy told himself. _It wasn’t._ Just because his elderly secretary was giving him pitying looks, and he had memorized the phone number, and had thought of her every night since he had resolved to forget about her, didn’t mean he was pathetic.

No, what was PATHETIC, was him rifling through the wastebasket at his desk for the coffee cup with her writing on it.

He fished it out (slightly dented, but otherwise unharmed), and set it on his desk. Darcy ran his thumb over the lid, where Elizabeth’s fingers might have touched. Her writing looped across the koozie, dashed ‘i’s and a squiggled ‘z’ spelling out the name that wasn’t his. _She was so annoying. And childish. And poor, and stupid and..._

He really liked her.

Darcy had never ‘liked’ anyone before, really. He tolerated people; not liked them. Even his best friends— he had never felt like this. Like.. giddy butterflies. Like electric beams of sunlight, sparkling through his veins when he thought of her smile. His face got red and his hands got sweaty, he stopped speaking clearly and started imagining things he had never dreamed of.

He wanted to see her again.

For three days. Three days was how long it took for Fitzwilliam Darcy— the CEO of Pemberley Studios, the big man in the office, precise and intelligent and oh-so-controlled— to crumble.

He called her.

Elizabeth’s number was easy to remember; that was what he told himself. It was just a string of digits, and some of them repeated out into patterns. It wasn’t hard to remember. But it wasn’t easy to convince himself that.

He punched in the digits with shaking hands. When the phone rang, it was like Darcy could hear his own heartbeat fading into oblivion. 

“Hello, Lizzy Bennet here,” her voice said.

Darcy’s mouth went dry. His throat closed. His brain stopped working and the only thing that he could think of was her. 

Her voice was in his ear. It was as if she was right there, beside him. Leaning in, her breath tickled his neck as her lips moved closer, and closer...

“Hello?” She asked again.

Darcy slammed the phone down and locked himself in the office for the rest of the night.

He was stronger than this. He _had thought_ he was stronger than this.

 _He **wasn’t** stronger than this, _he sighed to himself on the fourth day, standing outside Longbourn Cafe at 7:15 on a weekday, a heavy sense of finality settling over his shoulders. 

Darcy checked his watch. Yes. Her shift had started a while ago, so she wouldn’t suspect he knew her shifts. Okay. Yep. _He was really doing this._ Darcy breathed in a long stream of air, and pushed open the doors. 

“Good morning!” Called out a barista with a plain face and neon purple hair, who was decidedly NOT Elizabeth, “How can I help you?”

Darcy stopped. He looked around. Then he looked back to the barista that wasn’t her. “Um. Hi.”

“...hi,” she said. 

Darcy ran through the list of information in his head. Elizabeth _should_ be here. _She_ should be the one serving him, teasing him, looking at him like he was crazy for standing there in the doorway of Longbourn Cafe and not saying anything.

He cleared his throat. He looked around one more time. “Um.. is Elizabeth… not here?”

The woman nodded, slowly. “Yeeeahh… no, she went out for a run.” She squinted at him. “Uh. Do you… know her?”

“No,” Darcy said.

Then he left.

There was no point in getting coffee if she wasn’t serving him. There was no point in being there at all— if there wasn’t the slight chance she would smile at him over the counter. Even though Darcy had been practically shaking in his shoes at seeing her again, NOT seeing her made his day a little worse. A little darker. 

A little… lonely.

Outside now, Darcy raised his head; and as he expected, the sky was gray. There was a dull light diffusing over the clouds to the east— backlighting the horizon with a burnt gold sheen. As he looked to his left, shielding his eyes from the rising sun reflected off the pavement, footsteps began to echo into reality. Soon, around a corner, an angel emerged.

A sweaty, out of breath angel, whose cinnamon hair was escaping in clumps from her ponytail, and who stopped jogging just before she barreled into him.

Darcy drew himself up, staring as only a man in awe can. _“Elizabeth,”_ he breathed, reverently.

“Huh?” She said, pulling out her earbuds. “Um, hi, Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy recovered himself belatedly. He put a stone mask over his face, and looked away. “Hello,” he said, gruffly.

Elizabeth shuffled her running shoes on the sidewalk. Darcy made the mistake of looking down, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Or perhaps, wished he had looked, but was a bit bolder, and perhaps had a camera.

Elizabeth was in running shorts, hiked up far on her thighs. Her legs were long and glistening, the muscles toned and tantalizing, shown off by the golden sun. Letting his eyes trail slowly back up to her face, Darcy swallowed. She had run hard, and the sweat was making it extremely easy to imagine the shape of her curves without the tank top currently clinging to her. Elizabeth’s face was flushed, and her chest heaved lightly as her pink lips parted.

Darcy clasped his hands in front of him as naturally as he could.

He blinked at her, and realized she had asked him a question. “Sorry, what?” He asked. His voice was suddenly hoarse, and embarrassed, he cleared his throat.

Elizabeth stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “I _said,_ did you already get your coffee?”

“What? Uh, n-no. I haven’t yet. Uh.” Darcy was trying very hard not to let his eyes stray again. He could feel his face growing redder by the second. _He had to get out of here._

“Goodbye,” he said.

Then he turned around, and left.

If he had trouble walking even the short distance to Pemberley Studios, and kept checking over his shoulder every few seconds, no one would see.

Because the woman that had ignited these… _feelings_ were already inside. And once he was inside (his own, respective, building), Darcy laid his head down on his desk, and groaned.

 _What on_ **_earth_ ** _was wrong with him?_


	6. Running (from Problems, and just Running)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Lizzy thinks about our favorite customer. Her POV of their interaction. Normal chapter— next one has the potential to be my new favorite (it looks like its gonna be fun lol!) so be on the lookout! Stay safe, and leave a comment if u like! ❤️ ~Vinny

Lizzy Bennet liked running. Not  _ only  _ from her problems, but also just in general. Besides, Violette had agreed to cover for her today. She just needed a break. 

_ Break from what?  _ She asked herself, though she already knew the answer. She was just being silly. To combat the silliness over some guy she didn’t even know, Elizabeth passive aggressively kicked a battered soda can into the road. She imagined it was Fitzwilliam’s stupid-perfect-angry face. 

_ Why did he bother her so much?  _

Well, besides being a pompous jerk and insinuating that she didn’t even have a high school degree. Aaaaand glared at her, every time he came in, and called her ‘barely tolerable.’ Whatever that meant.

GAH, what on earth was wrong with her? 

Fitzwilliam was  _ just _ a random customer— he hadn’t even come in the last few days. He probably was fed up with her getting his name wrong on purpose. He would find some other coffee shop to frequent.

...why did she feel so angry about that? Why was she even still thinking about him?

As she crested a hill, the sunrise swirled into life before her. Gray clouds were shattered to pieces across the sky, backlit from the rising day and blurring back into gray as the horizon continued on, and on. The sidewalk reflected the golden glow, making it seem like she was walking on sunshine. Lizzy stopped, smiling, and changed the song on her iPhone to ‘Walking on Sunshine.’

She kept running, this time with a little more spring in her step.

Lizzy kept running (she was almost to Longbourn now) and this time she was starting to get a little out of breath. She had worn a tank top, and it was starting to get all gross and grimy; she hadn’t sweat this much since last August. She would have stopped, had she not rounded the corner, and almost ran into the man she had been trying so hard not to think about.

He mouthed something with a funny expression on his stupidly handsome face (seriously, why did someone so  _ rude _ have such nice skin.. and hair, and cheekbones.. and lips, and… MOVING ON). 

Lizzy felt herself turning pink as she pulled out her earbuds. “Hi, Fitzwilliam,” she said.

Fitzwilliam looked like he was attempting to swallow a rather large beetle. “Hello,” he responded gruffly.

His eyes flicked downwards, and suddenly Lizzy was all too aware of how messy she looked. Her hair was a clumpy mess, she was covered in sweat, and her running clothes were not exactly ‘high-brow,’ like the kind Fitzwilliam always wore. As if to accent this, he clasped his hands in front of his crotch in that uptight-businessman pose, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Uh, so,” Lizzy coughed, trying to cut the tension, “Have you already gotten your morning coffee?”

He didn’t answer for a solid twenty seconds.

“..sorry. What?”

To hide her embarrassment, Lizzy cocked an eyebrow challengingly, as if it was  _ totally fine  _ that her snobbiest customer (who was also kind of maybe very hot) was seeing her all slimy and disheveled from her workout. 

When he cleared his throat, Lizzy repeated her question.

“What?” He said again. Fitzwilliam was apparently too busy being shocked at her disgusting appearance to focus. “Uh, no, I haven’t yet.”

He looked at her for one more moment. Lizzy felt like his eyes were cracking her open, peeling her apart. Like he could see right through her, and wanted her gone.

“Goodbye,” he said.

Then he was gone.

Lizzy stood there, for a second. Open mouthed and staring after Fitzwilliam’s retreating figure. She stomped her foot in frustration before she realized how childish that might look, if he turned around.

BUT WHY DID SHE CARE ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT HE TURNED AROUND SHE DIDN’T CARE.

Growling in frustration, Lizzy threw open the door to the Longbourn Cafe and stormed in. She nearly knocked over some beach-blonde couple on their way out, but they weren’t too inconvenienced, and besides— Lizzy was in a mood.

So much so, that within four seconds of her entering the building, her best friend remarked in her usual blunt way, “You’re in a bitch of a mood today.”

Lizzy flopped down at a table, groaning angrily in response.

Because there were no other customers to serve, Violette made her way from behind the counter to sit next to her friend. She put a soothing hand on her arm. “Soo,” Violette said, “whaaat happened?”

“Frizza, frazzin’, magga, mardar,” Lizzy mumbled incoherently into the table.

“Mhm, mhm,” Violette said, nodding sagely. She pulled Lizzy’s head up from the placemat and forced her to look in her eyes. “Now. WHAT HAPPENED.”

Lizzy sighed heavily. “Nothing.. major. Just…. some  _ guy.” _

Violette widened her eyes and smiled a little. “Does this…  _ guy  _ happen to be dark haired, 6’2”, halfway to Hunksville and all the way to Awkward Town?”

She eyed her friend, suspicious. “Did.. he come in here?”

“Yup,” Violette said, with a pop of a ‘p’ and a sideways grin, “Asked after you  _ specifically.” _

“Great,” Lizzy groaned sarcastically, “Now I’m even MORE confused.”

Scooching closer, Violette companionably bumped her chair against Lizzy’s. “Hey..,” she said softly, “I’m sure it’s not  _ all  _ bad.” Violette paused here, and ran a hand through her freshly dyed hair. “Well. It  _ probably  _ isn’t.”

Lizzy looked up, glaring not at Violette, but at the situation she was in. “Well,” she said, “if you consider him coming in, insulting me to my face, and me getting his name wrong on purpose multiple times BAD— then yeah. Bad city, over here.”

“Wait.” Violette held up a finger. “You said  _ multiple times?” _

“Mhmmm,” she nodded, “He keeps coming back! I mean, God knows why, it’s not like we WANT a… a guy like that.. here.”

“What?” Her friend smirked. “A guy who's your type?”

_ “No,”  _ Lizzy said deliberately, frowning at Violette, “I  _ meant  _ a mean-spirited snob.”

“Hmm, he didn’t seem super snobby to me,” Violette protested mildly.

Lizzy silenced her with a look. “YOU weren’t there when he called me a ‘not tolerable waitress.’” 

“Oh.” Violette wrinkled her nose. “So we hate him then?”

“I- um,” she hesitated, “Well, no—”

“OOH! We could bar him from the store if he’s really bothering you!”

“No! No. I- I’m sure it.. won’t come to that,” Lizzy assured in a rush, feeling strangely flustered.

Violette gave her a long, slow look that eventually spread into a slower smile.

“You LIKE him!” She accused gleefully, poking Lizzy until she caved.

“I do NOT,” Lizzy said, swatting Violette away with a displeased expression.

Violette giggled— a strange sound for her deep, serious voice to perform, but it executed it admirably— saying, “God, we sound like we’re in high school again.”

Lizzy made a face. “Ew, yeah, let’s stop while we still can.”

A pause.

“And I do not  _ like  _ him.”

Violette, wisely, said nothing.

“He’s… sorta fun to tease, that’s all.” Here, even Lizzy took note of the pointed silence, though she tried to fill it unnecessarily. “He’s just some prick who can’t communicate! And happened to come by more than once. I mean it Violette, don’t make a big thing of this.”

She sniffed, as if she didn’t care. “I tell ya, Fitzwilliam’s an oddity— at  _ best.” _

Violette nudged her friend, smiling subtly. “But…” she trailed off expectantly.

“But nothing!” Lizzy exclaimed, standing up. “There is nothing more to it! Nothing more, so we shouldn’t even be talking about this! Okay? Okay!”

_ “Oh _ Kay,” Violette mumbled, grinning. 

As they both went back to work, Lizzy pretended not to hear her friend humming the ‘Sitting in a Tree’ song as she slipped out the back door to get changed.

Lizzy wasn’t thinking about this. It didn’t matter, so she wouldn’t think about it.

But… still.. Lizzy couldn’t help hoping, just a bit, that the next time she had a shift, there would be a pair of dark brown eyes in the room, following her.

Fitzwilliam… probably wouldn’t be there. Not after the awkward-palooza that morning.

_ But,  _ Lizzy figured, with an internal shake of the head, _ it couldn’t hurt to hope. _


	7. Unnecessary Niceties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet interaction between D&E. Doesn’t make you squeal, exactly but does give off the same energy as (🥺) emoji lol.   
> (Also, yes, in this story Charlotte is named Violette. I just wanted to change it, so I could differentiate between Docs)   
> Anyway, hope y’all enjoy this one! I have some more banter-y fluff coming up ;) love yall! ~Vinny

Unfortunately, as per Fitzwilliam’s apparent nature, he came at  _ exactly _ the wrong time.

Longbourne Cafe, despite being in a prime spot in the city— right between the subway and Main Street, on the way to most offices in the area— was not usually that busy early in the day. That was why Lizzy always took the morning shifts: less dealing with large crowds.

That was why it was such a surprise that on this particular morning, half the city seemed to be crowding its way through Longbourne’s well-worn doors. Shiny loafer and high heels scuffed agitatedly across the carpets. Elbows jostled in a fragmented sort of line to the counter. 

Lizzy didn’t know what the weather was that day. She hadn’t had a chance to check.

She and Violette had been so busy, rushing back and forth and taking orders, that Lizzy had barely noticed when a certain scowling man had been at the front of the line.

“Oh! Hi!” She smiled distractedly, scribbling his name down on the cup. “Want the usual?”

Fitzwilliam gave her a small smile— shy and.. relieved somehow. “Yes, hi,” he said. 

Lizzy wished she had time to say more— to tease him and laugh and how uncomfortable he looked in the crowded cafe— but she didn’t have time. She just filled up a venti mocha latte with no cream, and slid it over to him on the counter. She didn’t have time to notice his face darken as he read the name. Didn’t have time to see him watch her with an unreadable expression from his table by the door.

It took about half an hour of pure mayhem for things to quiet down. When it did, he was still there.  _ Fitzwilliam. _ He had stayed. 

Lizzy wasn’t sure why that gave her butterflies.

But she wasn’t complaining.

Glancing at Fitzwilliam, she noticed that his face was frowning down at his coffee. He looked.. more unhappy than usual. Something about his eyes— there was a tenderness around them, a vulnerability— as if the weight of the world was beginning to break him. 

Something about him that day.. made her forget how rude he had been. Suddenly they were just two people in a coffee shop, just one word away from a human connection. The air felt electric and layered; as if the oxygen itself was holding its breath. Lizzy let hers out. She made a decision.

Lizzy looked to Violette, go gave her a thumbs up. Cautiously, she walked over to her taciturn customer.

“..soo, hi,” she said, waving a little. 

Fitzwilliam looked up. Lizzy had to coach herself not to audibly catch her breath. His eyes were so, so brown.

“Hello,” he replied seriously, his eyes scouring her face for something he didn’t find.

“Can.. I help you with anything, sir?”

He blinked, and tried for a smile. He didn’t succeed.

“No, no, I- I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

Lizzy bit her lip, loitering against the table. “Are you sure? You seem.. like you had a bad day, or something.”

Fitzwilliam’s face was impassible, but Lizzy thought she could detect a softening around his cheeks. “..yeah,” he said, after a while. “I did have.. Yes, you could say that.”

“Well, I know we don’t really know each other,” Lizzy shrugged, “But if you want to, I’m cool with listening.”

He smiled at her, for real this time. “Thanks.” 

Fitzwilliam stared at her, his subtle expression frozen on his face for just a second more, before he collected himself. He coughed lightly, seeming a little embarrassed. “Um, but, I’m good. Really. But thanks.. for the offer.”

Lizzy shifted her weight, feeling strangely awkward. “Well… okay.” Then she grinned, and with one swift motion, she swiped his coffee (which looked to be untouched).

“But let me top this off for you!” She called, already walking to the counter. 

“Um, that’s really not necessary—,” He tried to say, looking (if it was possible) even more uncomfortable.

“NONONO, I insist!” Lizzy laughed. “God knows when  _ I  _ have bad days, I would take a free coffee NO QUESTIONS. That’s the difference between you and me, I suppose.”

“..I already paid for it.”

“Then I’ll pay you back,” Lizzy grinned. “Everyone deserves a coffee on bad days.”

He smiled— a queer little smile, that barely moved his lips, but crinkled his eyes almost to slits. “Thanks,” he murmured, softly.

“No problem,” she chirped. “I’m Lizzy, by the way.”

“I kn—,” Fitzwilliam started to say, then caught himself. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m Fitzwilliam.”

“I know,” she smiled.

“ _ I know  _ you know,” he replied, not quite smiling. “You wrote it on the cup.”

Lizzy looked down at the cup in her hand, and got a little shock. It was just ‘Fitzwilliam.’ No special jokes, nothing. She felt a little guilty, but didn’t know why.

“Oh yeah,” she coughed, trying to recover, “I did, didn’t I.”

He kept watching her. Fitzwilliam seemed like he was winning a one-sided staring contest— Lizzy pulled herself out of it before she could turn any redder. (She was blushing. Why was she blushing?)

She added a little hazelnut to the coffee, warmed it up, and wrote a new name in the side, scribbling out the old one.

“Hope the rest of your day is better,” she said, dropping it off at his table. 

“Thank you,” he answered thickly, barely loud enough for her to hear. But she did. And she smiled at him as she walked away.

Lizzy didn’t know why she felt like being nice to this awkward jerk, but… it felt.. oddly nice, to be nice.

Something about the way he grinned softly down at his coffee, tracing the lid with the pad of his thumb, made her feel lighter. Almost happy.

Scratch that.  _ Not almost. _ It did.  _ It made her happy. _

And she smiled all the way to the storage room, not even minding so much that this not-quite-stranger stared after her the entire time. It was becoming a routine, of sorts, and she was almost beginning to appreciate it.

Meanwhile, as Lizzy was slowly puzzling out the funny feeling growing in her stomach, the dark-haired man at the table peeled back the koozie, reading the words she had left for him.

**_‘Will_ ** _ you throw a  _ **_Fitz?_ ** _Try not to! And make_ _ sure to smile at least once today, ya grump :)’ _

Darcy smiled at least five times, reading and re-reading that message. He took a sip of the coffee, and felt a surge of.. something.  _ She had added hazelnut. She had remembered, he liked it.  _ Had he already told her that hazelnut was something he only got on his worst days? Days he needed a pick-me-up. Days he needed to be reminded: better ones were sure to come.

Today hadn’t been a day where he had needed hazelnut.

He had been having an actually pleasant morning, until he went to Longbourn. It hurt, that she had barely noticed him this morning. She had given him a smile, and said hello, but that had only made Darcy feel good until he realized she was doing that to every single person in that line. 

_ What had he expected? After all, he was just another customer. She didn’t even know he knew her name. _

Darcy had trudged back to his usual table, sat there a while, and stared at the steaming coffee, not even bothering to taste it. She had written  _ ‘Fitzwilliam’  _ on the cup. She didn’t even remember their game.

But then…

She had asked about him. She had noticed him. Told him her name, written an actual  _ personal  _ message on his cup, and SMILED at him.

It was the best feeling in the world.

Darcy didn’t even try to stop the goofy grin from taking hold across his features, transforming him from a stern businessman to a silly schoolboy with a crush.

Yeah. Yeah!  _ That _ was what he was feeling!

Darcy ducked his head, sipping at the perfect cup of coffee to hide his face from passers by. He was too happy to hide it anymore.

He had a  _ crush.  _ And he was done fighting it. He liked Elizabeth Bennet, the barista with green eyes and freckles and a smile just for him, and he was ready to do something about it.

The only question left was… What now?


End file.
